Darkness Rising
by thatoneunevenchick
Summary: Moriarty wanted revenge, and he wanted it on Mycroft Holmes, however he couldn't simply kidnap the man who ran the British government,so his brother would have to do. *Warning* descriptive acts of physical and physiological torture
1. Chapter 1

The room was dark and cold and smelt distinctively of mold, mildew and the all too familiar smell of rotting basement. Sherlock sat still on the bed, his ribs and shoulders still aching from being thrown onto the ground and into the boot of a small car where he had to squeeze his knees tight to his chest to make room for the rest of his body. He looked around, trying to deduce something, anything about where he was.

But the room was too dimly lit, the only source of light being the thin moon beam that leaked in through the small barred window and he was far too worn out to make out much of anything even if there were proper lighting. A bruisingly large man shoved his way into the room and with a grunt wandered over to where Sherlock was sitting, roughly grabbing his wrist and locking it into a pair of handcuffs, pulling it behind one of the bars of the metal headboard before clamping his other wrist in the other end of the handcuffs. Sherlock twisted himself to get more comfortable, his arms hanging above his head. He watched as the man lumbered back out of the room.

Sherlock looked down at himself, accessing if anything else was wrong with him. His coat was missing and he guessed that someone had taken it. He had a large rip in the knee of his right pant leg and a small cut that had stopped bleeding quite some time ago. His shirt was in near perfect condition aside from the large amount of dirt smeared across it.

The door opened and a small wiry man came in with a chair, setting it down several feet away from where Sherlock was seated on the bed. The man regarded Sherlock with a sly look before leaving out the door. Sherlock sat for what seemed like hours but he knew could only have been a couple minutes before a dark figure walked into the room, wearing what looked a lot like Sherlock's coat.

"This is a lovely coat you have Sherlock" came the sticky sweet drawl of an all too familiar voice. "It's a shame that you won't be needing it for some time" he said, sitting down in the chair in front of Sherlock, crossing his legs. "Though it is a bit drafty in here"

"What do you want Moriarty?" Sherlock asked, gritting his teeth.

"Oh not much" he said, examining his fingernails. "Just revenge"

"On who?"

"Your brother Sherlock dear, your brother" Sherlock let out a shaky laugh that slowly turned into a chuckle.

"And how are you going to do this, there isn't much my brother cares about" Moriarty laughed, leaning forward in the chair so he was in the small light beam that was coming in through the window.

"Quite right Sherlock but there is one thing he cares about more than he'd like to mention"

"And what's that?"

"You"

* * *

John paced back and forth in the den of 221b, running his hands nervously through his hair several times before sitting down in his arm chair only to get back up and repeat the process. It wasn't normal for Sherlock to have been gone this long, granted he'd been gone longer but he said he was heading over to Saint Bart's, he should have been back by now, at the very least he should have texted by now.

John checked his phone for the seventh time since the hour, still no messages from Sherlock. John rubbed his hands over his face, grabbing his coat and hailing a cab. When he reached Scotland Yard he threw some money at the cabbie and dashed in through the doors, bursting into Lestrade's office without so much as a hello to anyone in the offices.

"Sherlock's gone" John said breathlessly.

"And this is different from any other time because?"

"He said he was going to Saint Bart's" Lestrade raised an eyebrow, requesting a further explanation. John rolled his eyes, suddenly remembering that not everyone knew Sherlock the way he did. "He left this morning, and it's almost five, he's never gone this long without texting"

"Well maybe something's come up?" John shook his head.

"He would have texted me, or had Molly text me and I haven't heard anything all day"

"Maybe we should head over there" Lestrade said, standing up and shrugging on his coat. John nodded, following him out the door and into a cab.

* * *

Sherlock twisted in his handcuffs, the cold metal cutting into his wrists. His arms had since gone numb from being in the same position for several hours. The heavy metal door opened and Sherlock wasn't surprised to see Moriarty walk in with the larger man that had handcuffed him. The large man walked over to the bed, unlocking the cuffs from around Sherlock's wrist. The man grabbed Sherlock's legs, turning him so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing the chair.

A table was placed next to the chair and a small black box was placed on top of it. The large man walked over to the door, standing in front of it and crossing his arms over his chest.

"Miss me?" Moriarty asked, walking over to the table, his arms behind his back. "I brought some presents for you" and Sherlock was sure he meant whatever the black box contained. He sat down in the chair, placing his hands in-between his knees. "Now you should know that these are small presents and when you receive them I expect some sort of reaction" he turned to the box, unlatching the top and skimming over the items before picking one up. "This one is quite fun" Moriarty said, turning it around in his hands, the instrument look like a very cruel set of pliers.

"Open wide for daddy Sherlock dear" Sherlock clamped his mouth together, making a show of pulling his lips in. Moriarty sighed and motioned for the burly man by the door to come over. The man lumbered over from the door and stood next to Sherlock, placing his huge, calloused hands on either side of Sherlock's face.

"Break his jaw sir?" The man asked, his voice low and rumbly.

"No, no I need him to be able to talk" the man nodded, prying Sherlock's jaw open. "These are lovely teeth you have here Sherlock, which one do I want?", Sherlock watched, eyes wide with fear as Moriarty placed the pliers on one of his back molars, twisting and quickly pulling. Sherlock cried out, the sound strangled as Sherlock's mouth was still being held open. Blood poured from the tooth's former home, dripping down and off Sherlock's bottom lip.

"Now Sherlock dear this isn't all I want from you" Moriarty said, placing the piers on the table and nodding at the man. The brooding man let go of Sherlock's mouth, moving instead to hold his right hand out to Moriarty. Moriarty wiped his hands on a towel that was sitting on the table, before once again picking up the piers, placing them on the tip of Sherlock's middle finger nail. He pulled back quickly, yanking Sherlock's nail out all the while keeping eye contact. Sherlock shouted, and cursed, pain shooting up through his arm.

"Thank you" Moriarty said, picking up Sherlock's tooth and fingernail along with the black box and heading out the door, the man following behind, shutting the thick metal door behind himself.

* * *

"He never showed up" Molly said, filling out a sheet clipped onto her clip board.

"Are you sure you just didn't see him come in, maybe you missed him" John said, worry etched into his voice.

"No he never showed up"

"How could he have never showed up" John asked, Lestrade as they walked out of Bart's. Lestrade shrugged.

"I don't know John, maybe he got distracted or something" John stopped walking, looking up at Lestrade.

"Do you not even know him?"

Lestrade looked nervous but simply shrugged. "I can't fill out a missing persons report until he's been gone for forty eight hours"

John nodded, understanding the conditions.

"If he's not back by tomorrow night let me know" Lestrade said, clapping John on the shoulder and heading down the street in the opposite direction of John.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was left un-cuffed to the bed and he was silently thankful for it, the skin on his wrists already rubbed raw almost to the point of bleeding. Sherlock rubbed at his jaw, sharp pain still shooting through the back of his mouth. His mind ran through reasons why Moriarty would want to keep him captive, skipping over the obvious fact that he was Moriarty and he had a fondness for that sort of thing. Sherlock absentmindedly rubbed at his wrists, hissing in pain at the burning sensation it caused.

Sherlock wished he had something it occupy his mind, if only for a little while. The door opened and Sherlock turned sharply in the direction of his only way out. A table was again brought in but nothing was set on it. Sherlock frowned at this but decided it was better that nothing was brought in at this time. The door was again shut and Sherlock was left alone. He paced the length of the room, wondering what Moriarty had planned for him next. After what seemed like hours but in truth was only a few minutes Moriarty slaughtered in, hands behind his back.

He placed a syringe on the small black table, filled with a familiar substance. Sherlock's eyes widened with fear as he backed up onto the bed, back pressed against the wall.

"Judging by your reaction I'm going to guess you know what this substance is" Moriarty said, a sly smiled plastered on his face.

"I don't want that" Sherlock said, pointing to the syringe.

"I know Sherlock dear that's why it's being given to you"

"Please no" Sherlock said, holding his hands up to protect himself. Moriarty nodded and the man by the door, whom Sherlock hasn't noticed before, walked over to Sherlock, rolling his sleeve up well past his elbow. Sherlock struggled against the man but to no avail. A rubber band was tied around his arm above the elbow and Moriarty reached to grab the syringe. Moriarty quickly found the vane in Sherlock's arm, pushing the needle in past the skin and pushing the stopper on the top down. Moriarty left Sherlock in a state of confusion and Sherlock gathered that he said he'd be back later to check on him, couldn't have him choking in his own vomit or something of the like.

* * *

Sherlock wasn't sure how long it had been before Moriarty came back but he knew it was long enough for the dose he had given him to wear off and long enough for Sherlock to be crawling the walls with want of more.

"It's lovely to see you this way Sherlock" Sherlock lay on the bed, curled into a tight ball, pulling at his hair.

"Going through withdrawals dear?" Sherlock groaned and tucked into himself tighter.

"Have a lovely night" Moriarty said, turning on his heel and leaving through the heavy metal door.

* * *

Lestrade still refused to fill out a missing persons report.

"He's been gone for three days!" John shouted across the desk at Lestrade.

"This is Sherlock we're talking about he does this all the time."

"No, something's wrong, he would have texted me by now"

"I'll file one now if it'll make you feel better"

"Yes thank you" John said, watching as Lestrade grabbed some papers and a pen, quickly filling them out.

"I'll have people looking for him"

* * *

Sherlock was extremely thirsty, his mouth dry and lips slightly chapped. The need for the drugs tearing his insides apart. He bit at his nails to try and distract himself but his nails didn't grow quite fast enough and already he'd made three fingers bleed. He had buttoned and unbuttoned his dress shirt seven times already and had chewed his lip to past the bleeding point. He was becoming desperate now as another hour passed, he wished more than anything that Moriarty would come in and give him another dose, even just a small one, anything to stop the craving. Sherlock ran his fingers roughly through his hair, tugging at it, trying to think of something, anything to distract himself.

He tried to think of John, tried to wonder if he was worried about him but he couldn't think about John for too long before the cravings kicked in and took over his mind. One of the large men lumbered into the room and grabbed Sherlock by the back of the neck, picking him up from where he lay on the ground, and set him on the bed. Sherlock leaned back against the wall, his eyes sliding closed. Sherlock wasn't sure how long it was before the door opened again, wasn't sure how long it took Moriarty to slaughter over to him, wasn't sure how quickly he leaned down to whisper, only registered the fact that his breath was hot and sticky on his neck and it was all around unpleasant and made his skin crawl with disgust.

He registered that Moriarty said something along the lines of three days, three days since the last dose. He felt the sharp tip of the needle enter his skin and the drug enter his system. Sherlock could feel Moriarty smile against his cheek. Registered that Moriarty had placed a chaste kiss on the shell of his ear before leaving out the door.

* * *

Sherlock muddled through the high and through his withdrawal to discover that since the last dose it had been six days. He could only guess that Moriarty's new form of torture was forcibly injecting drugs into his system and leaving him with longer withdrawals. Sherlock perked up when he heard the metal door groan open. He was confused when only Moriarty walked in, holding nothing but Sherlock's cell phone. He crouched down to be level with Sherlock, tilting his head slightly as Sherlock was laying on the bed.

"One phone call Sherlock dear" Moriarty said, handing him the phone. Sherlock fumbled with the phone, shakily typing in the numbers he had memorized. Sherlock sighed with relief when he heard John pick up on the other end.

"Hi John"

"Sherlock where the hell are you? You've been gone for a week and a half"

"I think I'm in a basement" Sherlock said lazily. He heard John pause on the other end of the phone.

"Sherlock are you high?" Sherlock shook his head for a moment before remembering that John couldn't see him.

"No, not on drugs not right now"

"Not right now, Sherlock" Sherlock heard John's voice trail off as Moriarty grabbed the phone out of his hand, placing it against his ear.

* * *

John was shocked when the phone rang and Sherlock's number popped up. His first reaction was to be angry but Sherlock sounded so lost that John couldn't be mad for long.

"Sherlock are you high?" John asked, his heart clenching at the very thought.

"No not on drugs not right now"

"Not right now? Jesus Sherlock" John jumped when Moriarty's sticky sweet voice met him on the other end of the line.

"Hello Johnny Boy"

"Hello" John said questioningly.

"I have your precious Sherlock, he's been quite good, very compliment as of late."

"Don't you hurt him" John said through gritted teeth.

"Oh no Johnny not yet, not yet but soon enough, don't you worry your pretty little head"

* * *

Moriarty hung up, tucking the phone into his suit pocket. Moriarty turned back to Sherlock, leaning down to look at Sherlock, his hands placed on his knees.

"What should we do tomorrow hmm? The real fun starts tomorrow" he said, patting Sherlock's cheek before heading out the door.

* * *

Sherlock was once again handcuffed to the flimsy metal headboard and two of Moriarty's large side kicks came in, standing on either side of the heavy metal door. Sherlock pulled himself up into a sitting position, groaning quietly as the cuffs dug into his wrists. The men watched him from the door, the one checking his wrist every now and again. After what seemed like an hour Moriarty slaughter in. He nodded his head and they moved from the doorway, uncuffing Sherlock from the bed and re-cuffing him to a section of the wall. Moriarty wandered over and stretched his fingers.

A silver set of brass knuckles sat snugly against Moriarty's knuckles on his right hand and sliver of fear rang through Sherlock. Moriarty stretched his fingers out, examining the back of his hand. Moriarty wrenched his arm back and Sherlock braced himself for the impact. The cool metal slammed hard against his jaw and he could already taste the metallic sting of blood. Moriarty wrenched back again and placed another blow to Sherlock's left cheek. He placed several more blows on his face before moving down to hit his sides and stomach. Moriarty stood back, examining his work before slipping the brass knuckles off his hand and handing them to his henchman. Moriarty gripped Sherlock's chin, tilting it up and forcing him to look him in the eye.

"You're an easily broken pet aren't you? You'll learn to become quite submissive and compliant" Moriarty said sweetly, releasing Sherlock jaw. With a wave of his hand and a nod Sherlock was released from the wall and left on the cold concrete.

* * *

The only thing John could think to do while he was waiting for Sherlock to be found, was eat. He was sure he'd gained ten pounds since Sherlock was taken given that all he'd been eating was fish and chips and the occasional take away along with at least twenty cups of tea a day. Mrs. Hudson worried about and and tried several times to get him to eat something other than fast food but John refused. Several times John thought about going for a run but couldn't muster up enough energy to actually go through with it. Occasionally Lestrade would stop by with snippets of information about where Sherlock might be but it all was seemingly useless. Wherever Sherlock was John hopped he was okay.


	3. Chapter 3

John could wish for Sherlock's safety as much as he wanted to but it didn't help the fact that Moriarty was currently taking great pleasure in the fact that he was beating the living piss out of Sherlock. Sherlock was struggling to keep himself up on all fours as Moriarty placed calculated blow after calculated blow to Sherlock's sides and face. In the back corners of his mind Sherlock registered how disgusting it was that there was a thick stream of blood flowing from his mouth, mingling with his spit and dripping of his bottom lip into a puddle on the cold concrete floor. Moriarty kicked up into Sherlock's stomach and he let out a puff of air and fell over onto the floor. Moriarty squatted down, watching as Sherlock writhed on the floor, clutching his stomach.

"Oh Sherlock" Moriarty said crouching down on the floor next to Sherlock. He gently brushed hair off of Sherlock's bloodied forehead and Sherlock visibly curled away from his touch. "I really don't want to do this to you love"

"Then stop" Sherlock gurgled, spitting out a thick stream of blood. Moriarty shook his head.

"I have to do this Sherlock dear" Moriarty said, placing a hand on Sherlock's bloodied face, rubbing his thumb gently over Sherlock's bruised cheekbone. Sherlock weakly tried to push Moriarty's hand off his face but greatly failed. "Shall I place you on the bed dear, I don't think the floor is going to be very comfortable." Sherlock tried his hardest to protest Moriarty's help but he didn't really want to lay on the floor and he wasn't sure of his own strength. Moriarty carefully picked him up off the floor and laid him on the bed. He brushed hair off Sherlock's forehead, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead before leaving the room, closing the door behind himself.

* * *

Sherlock was left alone for roughly a week, only being bothered when he was given food. The cuts on his sides had healed but he still had quite a few large angry looking bruises along his sides. The swelling in his face had gone down considerably but it was still sore and bruised. He lay on the bed, wondering vaguely if John was looking for him. Moriarty walked in through the heavy metal door, dragging a chair behind himself. He faced the chair backwards in front of the flimsy bed Sherlock was spread out on, straddling it and resting his arms on the back of the chair. "How ya feeling Sherlock?" Moriarty asked in that annoying sing-song voice he possessed.

"Fuck you"

"Ooo, getting a tad sassy are we?" Sherlock groaned and pressed his face into his pillow. "Still sore?" Sherlock though he didn't want to, nodded. "Well tomorrow we'll have some real fun"

* * *

Heavy metal handcuffs were clamped around Sherlock's wrists and his arms were pulled above his head, hooked to something in the 's shirt had been removed and he was sure that a thorough beating was in order. Moriarty took great pleasure in administering the beatings himself and this time was no different. His ever crisp, clean suit was what he wore and he walked in with a whip. He unrolled it and Sherlock heard the leather hit the floor. He heard the leather whistle through the stale air and flinched when it made contact with his bare skin. He heard it whiz through the air again and snap across the small of his back. He let out a small whimper and he could feel the air nipping at his wounds with the sickening promise of infection. Sherlock counted ten more lashes across his back and two across both shoulders before he heard Moriarty rolled the whip up and unhooked Sherlock from the ceiling and handcuffs. Moriarty pressed a stinging kiss against one of the more nasty cuts and Sherlock hissed in pain.

"These might scar Sherlock" he said, brushing his fingers lightly over the split skin and Sherlock bit his lip to suppress a whimper.

* * *

There wasn't a comfortable position Sherlock could rest in. Should he stretch too far the open wounds would split and widen and cause severe discomfort. Sherlock was currently laying on his stomach, arms slack by his sides. Though most of his attention was spent on trying to keep his wounds from splitting he realized that he was terribly hungry. Suddenly he longed to John's annoying pestering about eating something and he promised himself to never complain about it again. He wondered vaguely if Moriarty would ever let him go, no probably not, and for a moment he wondered if he'd ever be found or if he would simply waste away. Sherlock prayed to a god he didn't believe in that he would be found, that someone, anyone, god even Anderson, would find him. Sherlock's back itched but he dared not move from his current position, knowing full well that if he did, it would cause further and future discomfort.

* * *

One of the cuts on Sherlock's back had gotten infected and Moriarty caved and allowed someone to come in and take care of it, putting a clean dressing on it three times a day. However this act of "kindness" came with another more subtle punishment. Sherlock was denied food. He was already fairly skinny even when he was allowed to eat whenever he pleased but now he felt as if his ribs were going to poke through his skin at any moment but then again he could have just been being dramatic. His stomach complained angrily at him and he sighed in annoyance.

"Shut up" he mumbled hoarsely to his stomach. "I have nothing to give you"

"Are you talking to yourself?" Sherlock quickly looked up, the action making his head spin, his gaze catching Moriarty's.

"You're starving me and you've denied me human communication of course I'm talking to myself"

"Well then you should know that I have a present for you" Sherlock's brow rose high on his head, nearly disappearing into his hairline. "And by present do you mean an actual gift or another beating?"

"If your going to be rude about it I won't give it to you" Sherlock clamped his mouth shut. Moriarty reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out Sherlock's mobile, flipping it around in his hand. "One person Sherlock dear, one". Moriarty slowly exited the room and Sherlock wondered briefly why Moriarty trusted him not to call more than one person. Sherlock licked his dry, cracked lips and slowly dialed John's number.

"Hello?"

"_John_" Sherlock breathed.

* * *

"Sherlock, what, where?" John scrambled, sitting up so fast he fell off the couch.

"John" Sherlock said again. John picked himself off the floor, shoving his fist into his mouth, biting down hard, but it didn't stop the tears from leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

"Are you okay?" John choked out.

"No, no I'm not"

"How did you call me?"

"He let me" John let out a small sigh of relief.

"I'm so sorry Sherlock, I'm so sorry"

"Me too John, me too"

* * *

Sherlock nearly began crying when Moriarty came back in and snatched the phone out of his hand. Moriarty talked on the phone with John for a few more minutes before hanging up and tucking it into the inside pocket of his sleek black suit jacket. "Little Johnny boy misses you Sherlock dear" Sherlock glared and shuffled himself on the bed. "How's your back?" Sherlock grumbled and rolled onto his stomach. Moriarty gently removed the bandage on Sherlock's back and examined the wound. He gently ran his hands along his back and Sherlock winched. The wounds were nearly healed, they were scabbed over and they still hurt like a bitch but they were healing. Moriarty lightly traced each wound with his delicate fingers, scanning over them as if memorizing the exact places he had injured Sherlock, as if he was trying to memorize the exact places he had inflicted pain. He kissed one of the cuts and curtly exited the room.


End file.
